Hands
by Vietta
Summary: A short fic detailing the after effects of Genesis' first battle in the war with Wutai.


The lights flickered on the transport, each bumping rock of the vehicle threatening to make them fall onto the people below. A shattering of glass amongst the huddled, weary, war-worn group might have been a welcome thing. The smell of blood and sweat mingled with an indistinct scent that reminded one of pure, unadulterated fear, but the smell itself was just a suggestion of the terror they all still felt and none of the men could identify it for what it was. These men had just had their first taste of war and none of them could say whether they had won or lost their battle. Had it not been for the Second Class SOLDIER who was currently moving through them, bandaging wounds and making poorly thought attempts to provide comforting words that either stung or fell on deaf ears, they would not have made it out of Wutai at all.

Auburn hair hung over sky blue eyes as they stared at the floor, their gaze cold but still widened by fear. The Third Class uniform he wore was stained with blood and dirt, the color blue barely distinguishable under all the singes and gore that had matted onto the fabric. Genesis had not been prepared for his first battle. He had risen to the occasion and had fought valiantly to save himself and others, but his hands had not stopped shaking since he had boarded the transport with the remaining portion of his platoon. There had been fifteen of them that morning when they boarded the same transport from the Shinra basecamp set up close to Wutai. Now there were only eight men sitting on the benches lining the transport, their faces grim and their morale shaken.

Genesis stared at his shaking hands, focusing hard to keep his breathing under control. His ceaseless training had paid off. He had survived his first battle when others had not. He should feel proud, victorious even, so why did he feel so sick? His stomach was churning and threatening to spill out onto the floor below. He kept staring at his hands, noting the blood that was flowing from scrapes in his palms. His sword had collided so hard with a Wutain soldier that the force had cut his hands.

He jumped as a man with a bandage descended upon his outstretched hands without warning. Genesis looked up, his heart pounding with leftover adrenaline. At the sight of the silver haired Second who had led the group into battle that day, Genesis quickly schooled his features. He didn't want to seem weak in front of the man whom every member of SOLDIER admired. Genesis cleared his throat. "I'm fine, sir."

"Your hands are your most important tools. Treat them as well as you treat your sword." Sephiroth spoke words he had repeated more than once after a battle. These blueberries were freshly picked and Sephiroth felt sympathy for them as he tended to their bruises. He could remember his first battle and the subsequent fear. Any time someone tried to kill you, lashed out at you with an inhuman snarl and tried to run you through, it was hard not to be afraid, but the first time was the most horrifying. Before that first encounter with a true enemy, all fights had been merely play. No one was actually attempting to kill you, you always got a second chance to fix your mistakes and learn from them. Now all decisions were finalized the second you made them and if you got a second chance you were damn lucky.

Sephiroth had learned to appreciate the idea of a second chance.

Genesis flexed his tightly bound hands and nodded. "Right. Thank you."

"How did you hurt them?" Sephiroth was truly puzzled by the small injury. The man before him had no other visible injury and even the singes on his uniform didn't look like they had burnt flesh underneath them.

"Hit a Wutain too hard. The hilt scraped my hands open when I did it." Genesis swept his hair out of his eyes and tried to wipe foreign blood from his face. He desperately wanted a shower.

"Were you not wearing your gloves?" Sephiroth's eyebrows rose. He had been sure to check all of the thirds before they left to make sure they were fully outfitted. He wouldn't have missed a glove-less SOLDIER.

"They caught fire when one of those beasts attacked me. I got rid of them after that." Genesis rubbed the back of his neck. It felt like such a rookie mistake, losing his gloves and helmet on his first mission. "Hey, will Shinra issue me a new helmet and gloves?"

"Yes but…" Sephiroth looked the redhead over quizzically, his mouth turned in a frown. The likelihood of a Third Class SOLDIER getting his by a fire spell and not suffering real damage was so unlikely that he had thought it impossible, at least for anyone who was not as mako enhanced as he had been when he was a Third. The fact that this Third only had one injury when all of his comrades were in desperate need of medical attention was an impressive thing. Sephiroth let his eyebrows drop and banished what he could of his curiosity, not wanting to make the man relive his first battle so soon. "The fact that you got hit by a fire spell and didn't suffer more serious damage is impressive for a Third Class SOLDIER. You've only had three mako treatments at this point, right?" When Genesis nodded, Sephiroth felt his curiosity rise despite his attempts to quell it. It generally took dozens of mako treatments if not hundreds for any SOLDIER operative to become less vulnerable than regular humans to a magical attack. Magic was magic and some SOLDIERs were so vulnerable to it that they never built up a resistance to it. Genesis' built in resistance piqued his curiosity, but he made his next question more tactful to the sensitive nature of the current situation. "What's your name, SOLDIER?"

"Genesis Rhapsodos." Genesis blinked, wondering what he had done to draw attention to himself. He had taken out a good number of Wutains, but he didn't feel that he had done anything truly remarkable in doing so.

Sephiroth nodded and stood, clapping a hand on Genesis' shoulder. "Take better care of your hands, Rhapsodos." Sephiroth moved on to the next Third in the group, making a mental note to keep eye on the shorter man. He had potential, but only time would tell how much.


End file.
